


Control

by butterycornbread



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterycornbread/pseuds/butterycornbread
Summary: Makoto wants to try something new, and Byakuya deigns to allow it.
Relationships: Naegi Makoto/Togami Byakuya
Comments: 3
Kudos: 224





	Control

Makoto has never considered himself manipulative.

It’s just that, when someone like Byakuya is your boyfriend, you learn to use his high-strung pride to your advantage. Makoto has never considered himself much of a gambler, either, but that has proven to be the most successful means of getting his way. For example: _Wow, I bet this is too heavy for us to lift together!_ And then Byakuya would scoff, predictably, and carry Makoto’s laundry back to his room for him. It’s a thing of beauty, but Makoto only whips out his secret weapon every now and then. He doesn’t want it to lose its magic, or for Byakuya to get wise to his sneaky tactics.

When Taka’s latest rant about the importance of discipline inspires him, though, Makoto knows he has to try it.

So, as they settle into Byakuya’s room well before the nighttime announcement, Makoto works up the courage to place his bet. “Do you think you could play red light, green light?”

Byakuya, cleaning his glasses with a little cloth, glances over at him. It’s clear by his silence that he has never heard of it before. He’s gotten to the point where his own ignorance doesn’t spark frustration into a fire of rage, which Makoto is grateful for. Slowly but surely, Byakuya is being kinder to himself—and, as a consequence, to others as well.

“You know,” Makoto says, swinging his feet where they hang over the side of the bed, “where you stop moving when someone says _red light_ , then keep going again when they say _green light._ But, you know.” He can almost talk about it without blushing now, progress of his own. “For sex.”

Byakuya’s brow twitches, and then he returns his attention to his glasses. “Why would I waste my time doing something like that?”

“Well.” Makoto shrugs, twiddling his thumbs. “Some people find it really difficult. Controlling yourself that much, I mean. So it’s okay, if you don’t think . . . you could do it.”

Byakuya stills, then slowly turns to stare at Makoto.

“Green— _light_!” Makoto cries, jolted forward and only barely catching himself on his hands when Byakuya thrusts against him. They didn’t spare the time to undress; Makoto’s trousers are only pulled down to his knees, baring saliva-slicked thighs that he squeezes together as tight as he can. They’ve done penetration a few times, but this is easier, especially for a quickie. It works better, too, with Makoto bent over this way and Byakuya hunched low along his back; he knows the size difference can frustrate Byakuya, even though at its core he suspects his boyfriend adores it just as much as he does.

Adjusting his hands on the mattress to better balance his weight, Makoto ducks his head and watches Byakuya’s cock push to and fro between his thighs. There’s a bit of chafe—the lack of lubrication is the biggest factor in their choice of position—but after being with Byakuya this long, Makoto has learned that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin. It’s a toss: that endless moment where the coin spins, wobbling before it falls, is where the hardest-hitting highs can be found.

Makoto doesn’t mind being the one who skates that edge. But today, he wants Byakuya to taste his own medicine.

“Red light,” he says suddenly, and there’s the slightest thrust before Byakuya processes what he said and stops moving. He can feel him panting, Byakuya’s front against Makoto’s back, just a little out of breath. Makoto takes the time to stroke himself, rewarding the stirrings of lust that have gone unappreciated by his boyfriend. He has to stifle a grin at the sight of Byakuya’s cockhead peeking between his thighs and the droplet of precum glistening at its slit.

He can almost _feel_ the impatience, beginning to radiate from Byakuya in waves. He won’t torture him too much. Not yet.

“Green light,” Makoto says, and Byakuya thrusts in earnest, faster than before as if making up for lost time. Makoto can’t hold himself steady with just one hand, not with his feet together to keep his thighs as pillowy as possible, so he reluctantly lets go of his own half-mast erection and returns his hand to the bed. He’s used to waiting, of course, and actually getting quite skilled at it. But Byakuya has never been made to wait—until now.

“Red light,” Makoto says cheerfully, and _almost_ giggles at the swallowed noise of frustration in Byakuya’s throat. He obeys, though, freezing with his hips flush to Makoto’s ass, his cock as far forward as it can reach. Makoto admires the sight of it, and the size of it compared to his own. He’s tempted to reach down and rub them together, but that would be cheating and a distraction from their new game. He wants to see this out to the end. It’s a curious task, being the dominant one, but it’s far from loathsome.

Makoto is nearly hard just from the hot breath shuddering across his neck, but he wants to take advantage of his control and try to have them come together for once. So he jerks himself some more, tiny movements of his hand just so Byakuya doesn’t think he’s lording over him. He waits until he can feel the telltale flames starting to lick inside him, then stops. He’s more turned on by this than he thought.

“Green light.”

Byakuya pounds into his thighs, grabbing Makoto by the hair and yanking his head back so he can kiss along his jaw.

Makoto’s voice breaks, overcome by their combined arousal. “Red li—ight.”

Byakuya sinks his teeth into Makoto’s neck, just shy of truly hurting him.

Makoto is throbbing now. “Green light.”

Byakuya slings his other arm across Makoto’s chest, crushing them together as he thrusts. Held up by his boyfriend’s iron grip, Makoto is free to use his hands on himself, slipping his thumb over his head again and again. He’s so close, burning so hot, he can almost feel tears prick the backs of his eyes . . .

“Red light!” he blurts, hand fisted at his hilt when he realizes just how close he was to falling over the edge. Pleasure swirls, whirls, dances through him. So close.

Byakuya’s breath hisses through his nose as he forces himself still. Makoto feels it before he sees it: his cock twitches, twice, desperate for relief. Makoto watches a thin thread of precum dangle, then drip onto the bed. If they’re going to wash the sheets anyway, he reasons, they might as well lose themselves completely.

“Green light.”

Byakuya moves like he’s going to fuck right through Makoto, squeezing him and biting him and hissing curses Makoto can barely hear over the slap of his hips against his ass. Makoto barely has to move his hand; Byakuya shoves him forward and back, rocking their bodies so powerfully Makoto is surprised their other nights haven’t left headboard-shaped cracks in the walls. The flames are a wildfire and Makoto can’t breathe through the smoke; he gasps and then he’s crying out and coming, and Byakuya’s weight is urging him down, down, down to the floor.

They kneel before the bed, Byakuya still molded to the arch of his spine, both of them hunched into some pose of worship. When Makoto’s vision returns, he sees the mess they’ve made: the darker drops of precum, the spatter he left, and the milky spurts of Byakuya’s release all forming a mosaic on the blanket. He laughs shakily, breathless. “Did you like it?”

Byakuya scoffs, but softer than he usually would. He stands up without a word.

Makoto mourns the warmth of him and even feels worry sneaking in. Is he mad at him for this? Is he going to bristle and shout to make up for being submissive? Makoto has never been given punishment he didn’t agree to one way or another, but . . .

He summons the bravery to look up.

Byakuya stands over him, offering a hand. He arches a fine eyebrow, scornfully amused.

Makoto twines their fingers in relief. Byakuya rolls his eyes, but he lets Makoto lead him to the shower. He stands tall and composed as always, face unreadable aside from its vague arrogance as he watches Makoto undress them both. It’s only by chance that, when Makoto carefully folds his glasses and sets them next to the sink, he catches his boyfriend’s reflection in the mirror: he’s not smiling, but his cold blue eyes are unfathomably fond as they regard him. Makoto is speechless.

Byakuya turns away, takes a shampoo bottle from the shelf and looks at it as if perusing the label—as if he can even read it, without his glasses. “I might let you wash my hair. But it’s fine.” He flicks his gaze up to Makoto. “If you don’t think you can manage it.”

Makoto stares. Byakuya smirks.

Makoto finally smiles, and reaches for him.


End file.
